


Liverpudlian Rain

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 13:38:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11829843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'may i request a super fluffy paulie imagine. something like a day in because it's raining and the power is out and he's just super cuddly.'Always!





	Liverpudlian Rain

“It’s rainin’.”

You mumble something unintelligible, and a kiss lands on your ear, making you wriggle and wince at how  _loud_  it is.

“(Y/N), c’mon, look at the rain…”

“I’ve  _seen_  rain.” You roll over, and look into Paul’s hazel eyes, and he grins at you slowly. “I know what it looks like. We have it where I come from too.”

“But this is Liverpudlian rain, like. It’s special.” He sits up, covers pooling around your waist, and you roll back over, snuggling into the pillow and smiling. You’re glad you changed the sheets last night – you don’t plan to get out of it today, so you’re happy to spend a day engulfed in the scent of lavender, although right now, all you can smell is Paul’s Pears body soap. “Come an’ look, you can see it comin’ across the Mersey.”

You sit up, and stretch your legs out of the bed, stretching, before grabbing the dressing gown next to the bed; you’re not quick enough, and you feel arms wrap around you before you’re pulled backwards, squeaking, and the covers – and Paul – engulf you once more.

“I changed me mind,” he grins, and kisses your neck softly. “Get back here…”

“C’mon.” You grin, and he runs his fingers down your side tenderly, before pulling you in closer; your skin feels so cold against his, and you curl up close, smiling at your little space heater of a boyfriend. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee…”

“No yeh won’t, love.” You raise an eyebrow, and he nods over at the teasmade. The little green light that means ‘coffee’ is off – your brow furrows. “No eleccy. Power cut, luv.”

“I’ve got a kettle. Gas won’t be off,” you say, and he smiles lopsidedly.

“I bloody hate whistlin’ kettles.” You grin, and trace your fingers down his – deceptively-broad – chest. “Stay ‘ere, we’ll sort stuff out later, like…” You shake your head, and then jump as thunder rolls. “Ey, it’s thunderin’ an’ all…”

“I don’t wanna go out.” You nuzzle into him, and slide your hand over his hip, before squeezing his bum; he gasps, and then grins.

“Right, that’s it.” He lunges, pinning you to the bed, and you shriek with laughter as he digs his fingers into your ribs. “Yer in trouble now, love, yeh don’t just grab Paul McCartney’s bum…”

“Get o-off!” you yelp, and he kisses you, sighing, before digging his fingers into your skin one more time; you push at him, and then he cuddles up to you. Silence reigns again as the two of you listen to the rain, and Paul groans suddenly, loud enough to make you jump.”

“Ah, shite.”

“What?” you ask sharply, and he shakes his head.

“No  _telly_ , like.” You swat at him, and he kisses you. “C’mon, love. Get me that coffee, yeh? Then… we’ll see what’s the what, like.”


End file.
